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by Rovelae



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ambiguous/Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, So the Tragedy really happened and the V3 cast was kidnapped, Tsumugi was lying about DR being a TV show, postgame, virtual reality au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28309242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rovelae/pseuds/Rovelae
Summary: DICE finally have their leader back. And this time, it’s their turn to take care of him. No one will ever hurt him again.
Relationships: Ouma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 202





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [MeitanteiSaishuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeitanteiSaishuu/gifts).



> Christmas gift for MeitanteiSaishuu/ @mery_Kuroyasha because he’s cool and says nice things about my stories on Twitter :)  
> He also once said he wanted a zine about Kokichi and DICE, and I think that’d be SO cool but also I don’t trust myself to organize or mod it so....

By the time the last of the ragtag band in checkered scarves file into the lobby, they can already tell he wasn’t expecting them to come.

To be fair, it had taken a good three hours to check in at the hospital. Running all the identity verifications, convincing the Future Foundation that they were the real DICE, and all that. Which was technically good—it ensured that the Remnants weren’t going to get their hands on their leader again, anyway—but they couldn’t bring themselves to appreciate the Future Foundation’s red tape where their Joker’s wellbeing was concerned.

Their Joker, who sat motionless in the corner of the outpatient lobby, hidden behind tearful families and Future Foundation security personnel, hunched over as if trying to make himself as small as possible. Holding his checkerboard scarf in his hands, worrying at the fabric with his fingers, his face completely expressionless in the way they know immediately isn’t good.

Until he looks up at them, lunges to his feet, and they clamor around him in something that’s more dogpile than hug.

“Surprise,” Jack manages, and then half of them are sobbing and the other half are too busy bear-hugging to respond.

It’s rare to see Joker speechless. He’s all touch, now, holding each of them in turn as tightly as he can as if still trying to convince himself that they’re real, his lips forming their names soundlessly, almost reverently.

“Should never have come for me,” they finally hear him muttering. “You should have left me and run halfway across the planet, you idiots....”

“And _you_ should have known we’d never consider that for a second,” Ace scoffs. Bluff makes the hand sign for _stupid_ and lightly bonks Joker’s forehead.

Joker grits his teeth and ducks his head. “I know you were watching. I know you _saw—”_

“Boss,” Roulette cuts in, in her no-nonsense voice. Then, gentler, “We decided you’d suffered enough.”

“And we came to the agreement that we’re nothing without you,” River says.

Joker struggles to find a reply and eventually gives up. He bites his lip and shades his eyes with one hand.

In the ensuing silence, Call lifts their Joker’s discarded scarf and stands on her tiptoes to tie it around his neck. She pretends not to notice the tears that fall onto her hands.

“Your orders, Boss?” Suit prompts him.

Joker lets out a shuddering breath. “Take me home,” he whispers.

Ace lifts him into his arms like he’s a child, and the others form up on all sides of them, a cartoonish royal guard.

They’re gone without a trace moments later.

But not before Bluff puts up both middle fingers at the detective watching from the other side of the room, of course.

They’ve moved into a new base since the last time they saw Joker. Of course they have. Movement equals survival, like Spider always says. It’s important to stay untraceable in this post-apocalypse, important that no one but family knows where they live, where they sleep, where they’re safe.

Besides, no one’s gotten over what happened last time they stayed in one place for too long. And they’re not _going_ to get over the time when fifty Remnants dyed in blood with Monokuma masks over their faces swarmed the base out of nowhere, held them all at gunpoint while they dragged Joker away even as he writhed and bit and kicked and _raged._

It’s a mistake they’ll never make again, and a mistake that was no one’s fault— they all agree but silently bear the guilt anyway, if the way they press tightly together in a defensive formation is any indication.

They hide the van under a few dusty tarps in a half-collapsed shed several blocks away and take the long way home, ducking through side streets, doubling back every so often to throw any potential followers off their trail. Spider brings up the rear, keeping his hand on the crowbar strapped over his back, and his hypervigilance is rivaled only by Joker’s, who scans shadowy violet eyes over the group constantly, counting them over and over.

Home for DICE is currently a warehouse at the edge of town, close enough to the railroad tracks that they can hear the freight cars rumbling all through the night. They’ve jammed the slide wheels on the bay doors so there are only two functional doors, and they’ve dragged the two filing cabinets from the office to stand guard beside them—to be pushed in the way of the door in case of unwanted company.

The office itself is now the communal bedroom, full of scavenged pillows, frayed blankets, and a mostly-flat beanbag. Roulette drapes a blanket over Joker’s shoulders the way he used to wear his black cape—it’s bright blue fleece with a penguin pattern, so it doesn’t exactly give off the same intimidating effect, but he pulls it close around himself anyway.

Outside the office is what must have been the staff’s break room, complete with a bathroom, a mini kitchen, and actual running water. Spider tosses Joker a can of soda from the fridge and talks about their supply run schedule, and which parts of the city to avoid, and other potential hideouts they’d scouted out in case they had to leave in a hurry. Overthinking is something they have in common, same with the way they both calm down by planning, analyzing, checking and re-checking everything, making sure everybody else is safe.

The last thing to see is the throne for DICE’s king—an old armchair with an atrocious floral pattern. On its cushion sits a stuffed horse, all matted fur and gangly limbs, with angry eyebrows drawn in marker above its beady eyes. Joker picks it up and examines it briefly before shooting a questioning glance up at Ace.

“He usurped your position while you were gone,” Ace explains, rubbing the back of his his neck. “We called him Mao—because, you know, it’s the characters of your name backwards—but, uh—”

“Then Double started pronouncing it like _meow,_ so we changed it to _Nekouma,”_ Jack finished.

Joker smirks at that—just a brief twitch of his lips, really—but doesn’t respond except to comb his fingers through the horse’s mane, slowly, brushing it up into unruly spikes.

“He was a total jerk, too,” Check says. Joking, but subdued. “Forced us to eat vegetables and everything.”

River hums his agreement. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand it.”

Joker’s shoulders shake with something that’s half-laugh, half-cry. He hugs the stuffed horse tight and presses his face into the crook of his elbow. Call slips an arm around his waist, leaning her head against his upper arm.

“I missed you guys so much,” Joker whispers.

Joker doesn’t talk much anymore.

Roulette says that from what she’s read it’s an uncommon but still recognized response to trauma, and that they shouldn’t push him if he isn’t ready to move on from it. So they don’t, no matter how weird it is when he spends the night obsessively pacing the perimeter of the warehouse, checking every exit and every barricade; no matter how disconcerting it is when they find him staring hollowly at the ceiling, blank except for tear stains on his cheeks.

(River once asked Roulette if her dusty and outdated psychology textbooks knew anything about helping someone who’d been murdered and brought back to life. She didn’t have an answer.)

When he needs to, Joker talks with his hands, like Bluff, or he writes notes in his messy, familiar chicken scratch. Easier that way, somehow, he’d explained.

Bluff seems to understand that, at least. He teaches everyone more hand signs so Joker has a broader vocabulary to work with, and he tells stories, sometimes, like he used to, some of them so bizzare and nonsensical that they earn a breathy, strained chuckle. Sometimes Joker's smiles are genuine, and sometimes he seems content.

And sometimes he screams his throat raw when the microwave turns on next to him, and sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days on end, and sometimes they wonder if he ever really came home to them.

He’s still their Joker, though, the same leader that’s taken care of them for as long as most of them can remember. Now, it’s their turn to take care of him.

So Jack reminds him to eat, and stays by his side to pester him until he cleans his plate. Double and River scavenge some spray paint from the grungier side of the city and paint an abstract mess of a mural on the ceiling of the office, so it’s harder to mistake for a slab of metal. Call’s pranks evolve into gentler surprises more than anything else—flower crowns appearing on Joker’s head when he’s not paying attention, candies slipped into his pockets.

And when he stares so far into the distance that he doesn’t seem to see anything at all, Suit lays Joker’s head in his lap and draws elaborate patterns on his face, using dry watercolor paints since real makeup is hard to come by these days, and he talks to him until the haze clears away from Joker’s eyes.

“You don’t tell us much, Joker,” Suit says on one such occasion. “You don’t like talking about how you feel to people who actually care, do you.”

Joker quirks an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

“So I’ve been thinking… maybe it’d be easier for you to talk to a complete stranger instead.”

<What are you getting at?> Joker signs to him.

“Well….” Suit puts down the paintbrush he’s holding. “When we picked you up, the Future Foundation said they were offering therapy to all of you. They told us it wouldn’t be easy for you to recover without it, and….”

Joker’s shaking his head before Suit finishes.

“We want you to get the help you need, Joker. Won’t you even consider it?”

Another head-shake. Joker raises his hands, then pauses, seeming to struggle with the phrasing.

<I need,> he signs at last, <to suffer.>

“Joker, please,” Suit sighs, but he knows he’s lost even before Joker brings his hand up to gently cover his mouth.

<It’s better this way.>

Days pass into weeks. Weeks pass, too, and in some ways Joker gets better, really.

Or maybe he’s getting worse in every way and is just figuring out how to more effectively hide it from them, River points out one day, but that makes Call cry, so they’re ignoring that possibility for the time being.

It’s fine. Or, at least, it will be, someday. They’re together now; that’s what matters.

(But everybody knows something’s got to give eventually, and it won’t be Joker’s unbelievably stubborn martyr complex.)

The tension comes to a head one day when Check bursts into the warehouse, quickly closing the door behind her. “Boss? Boss.”

Joker’s already looked up from the manga he’d been reading and is watching her instead, coiled like a spring.

“That _detective_ is here,” Check says, spitting the word out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. From the way his jaw tightens, she wonders if he’d rather it be the Remnants.

 _“How?”_ Ace says, and curses. “We have to get out of here before he tries to get in—”

“Too late,” Roulette observes darkly as a predictably timid knock echoes through the room.

“Are there more of them?” Spider asks.

“If they’re here to take Boss away,” Double begins, but Check shakes her head.

“He said he needed to talk to him,” she says. “I don’t know how he—he recognized me somehow, and—”

Another soft knock interrupts her.

_“Hello? ...Can I please come in?”_

“We should split up,” Jack says. “We’ll lead him away with one group and the rest can make a run for it—”

“Let’s just scare him off the hard way! He’d just hunt us down again unless—"

“Let him in.”

Joker’s voice, quiet and hoarse from disuse, still commands their attention instantly.

“Wait, are—you’re not serious, are you?” Check says. “After everything he said? If someone treated one of us like that—”

“It’s not worth it, Joker. It’s just going to hurt you more.”

“Joker, we know how you felt about him,” Suit says gently. “We understand, but....”

“You know you don’t owe him anything,” Roulette finishes. “You know that, right?”

In lieu of a response, Joker reaches behind the side of the chair to retrieve his mask. He brushes a bit of dust off of it and raises it to his face, taking a deep breath.

Check bites her lip and gives in.

She nods to Double, who’s closer to the door, and he unbolts and opens it in the middle of their visitor’s third knock.

“Ah—! Um, can I please talk to Ko—”

Double practically drags him inside before he can finish the question, and shuts the door behind them.

Shuichi Saihara stumbles a bit, then rights himself, glancing around at the other DICE with poorly-concealed apprehension. When his gaze falls on Joker, he breathes a sigh of relief. _“Kokichi,_ it’s so good to see you—I’ve been looking everywhere—”

He steps forward, and Ace and Spider pointedly mirror the movement, blocking his path.

A flash of hurt passes across the detective’s face. Funny, had he expected something else?

“I... no one else knows where you are,” Saihara says. “I didn’t even tell anyone I’d be here, I promise. I just had to make sure you were okay.” He hesitates, eyebrows creasing as he studies their leader. Then, tentatively, “You… aren’t, are you.”

DICE bristles at that, but no one moves except Joker, who shifts a little in his oversized chair. Even with the mask on it’s clear he’s not meeting Saihara’s eyes.

At the lack of a response, Saihara seems to deflate a little. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me,” he says. “If… if you want me, gone, I’ll leave. I won’t come looking for you again. There’s just… something I’ve been wanting to say, ever since… since.”

He squeezes his hands into fists and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kokichi. Out of all of us, I think you had it the worst, and I didn’t help you when you needed me to.” He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “I know that’s not enough, and I know I have a lot more to apologize for, but I wanted you to know that. That most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t… didn’t save you.”

It sounds… a little rehearsed, but it still gives DICE pause.

Saihara raises his head again, letting out a trembling breath. “I came here because I thought it might mean more to you if I apologized by—by offering to help now.”

Joker’s breath catches. Maybe only Call and Bluff hear it, from their positions on either side of him.

Saihara reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small slip of paper. “I’m working with the Future Foundation now, so you can find me there, but—this is my personal contact information. I-if you...in case you, ah....”

Ace waits long enough for the situation to become palpably awkward before stepping forward and plucking the paper from his hand. Saihara hazards a brief smile and returns his attention to Joker, who’s raised his head just a little. This might be the first time they’ve been face to face since the simulation, in fact, and there’s something raw and tender between them—things they want to say, things they want the other to say first.

“Kokichi, I… I’ll do anything it takes to make things right.” Saihara’s blinking rapidly, and eventually raises his hand to swipe his sleeve over his eyes. “And I really do mean anything, so… please call me. O-or, um, or email, if you don’t have…. Or you could stop by, if you—if that’s easier, I mean.” A shaky fragment of a laugh. “You deserve that, you know. You deserve to heal.”

The mask slips from Joker’s face.

Not in that he drops it; more like… he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore. His hands lower down to his lap, and what’s left behind is… too honest, too vulnerable, and not like him at all.

Saihara greets it with another tiny smile.

“I should… I’ll leave you alone now,” he says at last, half-glancing at the rest of DICE as if he’s talking to them instead. “Thank you for letting me in.”

The warehouse remains silent as Saihara walks back to the door and opens it. He pauses then, casting one last look over his shoulder. “It really was good to see you again, Kokichi.”

And then he’s gone.

Jack is the first to break the silence, with a tense exhale and a disdainful scoff. “Really, who does he think he is?”

“I guess this means we’re moving again,” River sighs.

“Let’s just hope the next place has a real shower,” Ace says. “I’ll just get rid of this, boss,” he adds, waving the slip of paper.

“No.”

Somehow, Joker’s voice is even more hoarse than before. He stretches out his hand, palm facing upward.

“Are… are you sure, boss?” Ace asks, and when Joker doesn’t move, he relents and walks across the room to hand the paper to him.

Joker unfolds it and scans over the handwritten contents, twice, several times. He keeps his expression carefully blank, but there’s a tightness around his eyes and a slight tremor in his hand.

Call reaches out to touch his wrist, and that seems to snap him out of it.

<Are you all right?> Bluff signs to him.

Joker hesitates. <I want to be alone for a while,> he replies, nodding toward the office.

“We’ll come and get you when dinner’s ready, okay?” Roulette calls after him, and he shoots her a <Thank you>.

“What was that about?” Double mutters once the office door is closed.

“If seeing that kid triggered him or something, I’ll find him and break his knees,” Spider growls.

“I really don’t think Boss would approve,” Check says.

“Boss doesn’t have to know.”

“He’ll be okay,” Call chimes in suddenly.

The others know she hates being the center of attention, but they can’t help all turning to look at her at the same time. <What do you mean?> Bluff asks.

“Joker was smiling,” she replies, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Just for a second, but it was there. I haven’t seen him smile in a long time.”

“Is that so?” Suit muses, eying the office door. “What do you think he’s going to do, then?”

Call just smiles. “Whatever he does,” she says, “I have a feeling he’ll be just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> (My Japanese is abysmal, but I’m confident that _Nekouma_ means “cat-horse”, and the _-uma_ part of Kokichi’s surname means “horse”—uh, it’s a super hilarious pun—)  
> Comments and critiques welcome and appreciated!


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